


Choke You in Sparks

by BloodthirstyKitten



Series: "In Tokyo" being the Soundtrack of your Life [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: DFAB reader, Exchangeable Genitalia, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Mettaton EX, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Route, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, Robot Kink, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Self-Insert, Strap-Ons, Workplace Shennanigans, wireplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodthirstyKitten/pseuds/BloodthirstyKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which you enjoy a cute, relaxing evening with your robot boyfriend after a long day at the lab.</p><p>Completely unrelated, you find out that if you cross the pink wire with the white wire Mettaton literally vibrates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choke You in Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this holds up to the success of "Drown Me In Glitter." I only want to bring the best pink sparkle glitter robosex to the masses.

“Hey, can you come in here real quick?” Alphys says.

You’ve got your tablet pen in your mouth as you squint at your computer, doing Actual Science (holy shit, Alphys asked you to look over her schematic for a better use of power “whenever you get the chance,”) for once. Even though you’ve got Sai opened up and running in the background anyway, so you have something to flip to when you get bored of science. Your boss also has you commissioned for a full poster-type thing for one of Mettaton’s shows, even though you probably would have done this one just for funsies.

Alphys is odd with her commissions.

“Mmmhm,” You mumble around your pen and stand up, stretching and cracking everything. “Whatchu need, boss?”

Alphys holds the door open as you walk through into her mechanical engineering part of the lab. It gets the most use out of the actual work rooms, considering Mettaton’s in constant need of some engineering here and there.

Speaking of Mettaton, there he is.

“Hello, darling,” He smiles at you as Alphys says “I’m installing some things into his software and… I want to make a run to the store, so can you watch him and make sure nothing goes wrong?”

“I could make the run to the store instead, if you want,” you offer, looking around the room and pointedly nod at the robot. Yet. “What kind of software? How is he not shut down right now as it works in his system?”

“It’s several more gigs of processing power so that he doesn’t, um,” your boss is sweating a little, “I mean he asked me to, be-because of the things that happened, between you and him, with his body, and I mean—”

90% of your willpower goes into not making it so that your palm meets up with your face. She’s doing upgrades because you two _fuck_. What the shit.

She swallows forcibly and changes the subject. Good girl. “And he doesn’t shut down, because, his body is made of out metal and magic and just some software to help it run! The part of Mettaton that is Mettaton isn’t coded into him.”

Okay that’s weird. You don’t think you’re high enough on the friendship slash dating rank in to ask how that works. It seems… personal? Somehow? “What does the software do?”

“I- It makes it so that he doesn’t, I mean, um, reboot, after he- oh god.”

“Oh god,” you mirror. You’re not going to get over the fact that your boss knows about your sex life. Your sex life _with her creation_ that you are currently dating oh yeah that’s still a thing you’re still halfway in denial and can’t quite believe this is your actual life. That you are living. At this moment.

You probably wouldn’t do it any other way but _STILL_.

“Doctor Alphys, dear, don’t talk about me as though I’m not standing right here.” Mettaton pouts, walking around in circles vaguely to your right with a thick cord jutting out of his hip. “Would you rather go out and buy her ice cream – Alphys, don’t try to lie, I know you’re getting more ice cream – or stay here with me?” And then he poses, winking in your direction. You imagine a little star twinking into existence right then and there for dramatic effect.

“Ice cream. Definitely.”

“Darling!”

Mettaton stamps his heel into the ground and whines petulantly as you snicker, turning back to Alphys. “What am I watching for, anyway?”

“Just any sorts of irregularities, you know! Any kind of glitch. He knows to shut down if anything happens-“ She levels him the most deadpan, so-done-with-you look, “But just in case he doesn’t, force quit him for me.”

“Do what?!” Mettaton squawks.

“Can do.” You salute as she walks off, tail going swoosh-swoosh-swoosh to and fro. You should probably be more professional with your boss.

“You won’t really force quit me will you, darling?” He pouts, a wibble programed into his voice. “It’s so cold and empty when I’m shut down like that.”

“It’s either force quit or get irreparably fucked up, Metta, what more do you want?” You stand by the door, arms folded behind your back. The only chair in the room is Alphys’s and you’re not sure how you feel about sitting on her (really comfortable looking) chair. “I’d choose temporary nothingness any day.”

“That’s because you don’t know how it feels.” Mettaton crosses his arms, scuffing one heel into the ground. “Force quitting is like getting… Knocked out, punched in the head and rendered unconscious.”

You don’t mention that you’re pretty okay with temporarily not existing. “Eh.”

He looks unimpressed with your answer.

“Tough titties.”

He looks even more unimpressed with that answer. Unfortunately, you don’t care. A smarmy shrug just makes his nose scrunch up (strangely, considering he’s made out of metal, how can his nose even scrunch?) and sneer comically.

Silence passes between the two of you. You’re not exactly hunting for conversational topics in your head, either, comfortable with just standing quietly by the door. Reminds you of working retail again, honestly, but you don’t mind. The greet was always easiest for you.

“So!” Mettaton says, forcing you out of your zoned out state. “We should go on a date later.”

“Sure.” Wait what. “What kind of date? No more dinner dates. Being the only one eating is weird.”

“But it’s so much fun to feed you, darling!” He leans down, head under yours and several feet ahead, unable to come any closer. “You’re so pliant and willing.”

“Flesh and blood, baby.” You stick out your tongue like a professional. “It’s in the human package.”

“And that’s why I like you.” Uuuuuuugh he’s so nice screw iiiit.

“Fine. If you must. But not this time. We’re doing something else.”

“Like what?”

Don’t meme at him, you think. Keep your dirty memeing heart quiet. “Netflix and chill, probs.” You’re going to hell. “Nah, not that. But something lowkey. I’m tired, Metta, and I’m too broke to go out.”

“I’ll pay.”

“I’m too nice to take advantage of the fact that you are not too broke to go out.” You’re not. Someday soon you’ll make him take you shopping and you can drown in shitty merch and regret nothing. Maybe you’ll have him buy you a dick. Sex toys are expensive and you don’t make enough around rent to justify spending another hundred on an exotic Bad Dragon dildo. Again.

Funny how easily your brain goes to sex. Mettaton’s a bad influence on you.

“Buy me a dick later,” you say absently, watching him out of semi-lidded eyes. Just to gauge his reaction, you swear. “I’ll use it on ya good.”

 _Cough cough,_ goes the soundtrack. “How did you come to that, darling?”

“Natural thought progression, obviously.” You lean on nothing, faking a smarmy grin. “C’mon. We already moved all my dicks to your place. I could do with another one. I mean, you’re here to get a good hard step up so you can take a good hard fucking, aren’t you?”

Mettaton gawps at you. You manage an entire five seconds of false seriousness before you crack, laughing and shaking your head and groaning at yourself all at once because _your boss knows about your sex life she probably knows all the sordid details about your sex life you can feel the sins crawling up your back_. “You,” he starts as you lean against Alphys’s desk, “Are something else, love, you know what?”

Ah. That pet name again. It’s still nice to hear.

“I’m everything else, baby.” You shake your head. “Nah, don’t be silly. I’m just Alphys’s human assistant in the overworld. Who draws a lot.”

You’re not expecting Mettaton to stamp his foot at you, heel clacking loudly against the floor, but that’s what he does, at you, arms crossed. “You are not! There is nothing about you that’s ‘just’ anything! You are amazing, darling, amazing and something else and entirely uniquely you in every way. Nobody is ‘just’ anything. Even that _Burgerpants_ isn’t ‘just’ a fast food worker or a prop in any of my shows. You are special, sweetheart, a bright shining star that surprises me at every turn.”

It makes you rather uncomfortable, honestly, when he talks about you as something special. You’re no celebrity robot, you’re no monster, and you’re nothing even vaguely integral to anybody’s story. He has no way of even vaguely understanding how it feels to be ordinary. Not that you’re complaining; you’re quite used to being ordinary.

“Whatever you say, Metta.” You shoulda sat in Alphys’s chair. You had the time.

“Who else could ruin me so completely and repetitively that the good doctor had to step in and fix this body up, hmm?” He grins and yeah, you’re better with this, sex talk is embarrassing but at least you’re good at getting thoughts rattling in his head.

“Do we want to find out who else could ruin you with hands on your heart and fucking you hard and wholly?” You leer.

“Oh, definitely not. You are quite enough for me to handle and that’s about all, sweetheart. It just lends to how you’re definitely something spectacular!” He sounds so sincere. Of course he does. He believes it, doesn’t he. “I wouldn’t swoop in to save just any date-less soul in distress, nor would I let them sex me up so thoroughly that my system reboots several times over. Not just anybody gets to have a true _heart-to-heart_ with me, you know?”

You mentally keysmash. You don’t want to talk about this. It’s too complicated for you, honestly, right now. You figure it’s a good time to deflect the conversation. “You know, it’s really hard to take you seriously when you’ve got a giant cord sticking out of your left asscheek.”

Mettaton scoffs at you, crossing his arms and pacing around Alphys’s station. Bait totally taken. “I told her not to put it in anywhere weird but when it’s all said and done there are only so many places to make easily accessible ports. And this is my _hip_ , darling, not my... ass.”

“Okay, but it’s much funnier if I say it’s out of your left asscheek.”

He coughs, fan whirring louder. “But it’s so _undignified_.”

You clap a hand to your chest, pulling your face into mock surprise. “Are you insinuating that you cannot handle the burden of wires sticking out of your left asscheek? The great star Mettaton, defeated by asscheeks! Certainly this is worthy of being on your news cast. It should be the headline! _Mettaton EX Unable To Rock His Own Asscheek Cord_.”

“Please stop saying asscheek, sweetheart.”

You snort, dropping into the nearby chair and grinning up at your robot boyfriend. “Only for you, darling.”

He gives you a look as though he regrets every choice he has ever made that has led to him standing there getting the bugs out of his system while you cackle and make sure something doesn’t go terribly wrong. The only thing that could ruin it would be you remembering that the bugs in his system Alphys and you just worked on fixing were the ones that had to do with his post-orgasmic fritz.

Oh god you remembered.

It must say something about you and your relationship with this robot that he doesn’t even give you an odd look when you slap yourself in the face and groan loudly.

Alphys comes back to this, you sitting in her chair with your hands pressed against your face and Mettaton pacing in circles with his hip (asscheek) attached to the wall of computers. She “ummmms” at you until you scramble up and apologize.

“Nothing weird happened, right?”

“No complications, Alphys.” you say as Mettaton goes “I’m _fiiiiiine_ , darling.”

“Umm. Okay.” Alphys scuttles around, nails going _taaaaaap tap tap tap tap_ against the floor, fretting around your boyfriend and making sure that you weren’t mistaken. You would hope you wouldn’t, he is _your_ robot boyfriend after all. And you adore him. “O- Okay, yeah. He’s fine. Okay, Mettaton, I’m g-going to... Um, disconnect you.”

“I’m ready, Alphys.” He twists his hip out (thrusting it in her face, ha, almost like he was posing for a magazine) and biting his lip. The fan whirrs. You raise one eyebrow, cross your arms, and stare him down. Boyfriend blushing is always something for you to investigate. Especially when he pointedly doesn’t look at you.

Alphys pulls the hip cord out carefully, she’s always so careful with him (as you rarely are) and you watch your boyfriend’s LED eye roll back in his head, bringing up a flash of static as his “breath” goes out in a short rush of static and “ _Oh_ ” as she works it out of him, heart jerking erratically (not very noticeably or even violently so, but you’ve had lots of practice noticing the rhythms lately).

... Going from his face, um, is your boss doing something kinky to your robot boyfriend? Should you leave? Take notes? Stay right where you are and pretend that seeing that face on your robot boyfriend doesn’t vaguely make you want to bend him over a table and fuck his glowing pussy until he wails?

Yeah, that last one. You’ll do the last one.

Awkward cough, awkward cough, these few seconds are taking forever.

And then the cord is out and being put away and Mettaton is stretching, sliding the silicone back into place so seamlessly that if you weren’t looking for it you wouldn’t even notice the seam. Hell, you’ve had your hands all over that boy’s hips and ass and hadn’t even realized it was a part that came out until today.

Okay, so, swallow, gesticulate that if they don’t need you anymore you’re going back to your desk, yeah, wanna keep working (totally your thought process here) and not waste Alphys’s buck. And not think about fucking Mettaton until he makes the anime porno face .

You’re thinking about it. You’re glad you can multitask. Now where’s the fucking hole in your goddamn lineart _this always happens to you, you think you’d be better at keeping this shit solid by now_.

Oh. There. That stupid two pixels. Fuck your life.

Or your robot boy— OKAY THIS IS JUST GOING TO BE A THING FOR THE REST OF THE DAY ISN’T IT.

It’s a thing for the rest of the day. You’re so curious _why_ he reacted that way to her pulling his cord out. Did he do it when she slid it in? You weren’t there, you wouldn’t know. Is it the same way, reason, why his voice jumps when you thumb the cord in his thigh?

This requires research. Research of the super scientific type...for SCINECE! 

\- x -

You start small. You start to knead at his legs more (the only soft spot on him, honestly, beyond his hands and lips and tongue, and you can’t exactly subtly fondle his tongue) while you cuddle. There’s no harsh digging like you do when you fuck and the results are... well, muddled with a thousand other variables ranging from sucking on his tongue to sucking on his cock. Or eating him out. Or licking lines over his heart.

Your mouth is useful, okay? And your hands are much better suited to making his voice snap and jump.

But anyway. None of that. You’re being subtle.

Which is why as you lounge on his lap like a vaguely uncomfortable couch. It would be more comfortable if there wasn’t this glassy box digging a sharp corner into the small of your back, but what’ll you do. It’s the best place to idly run your hand over his leg, pressing your thumb a little harder than the rest as you feign interest in _The Addams Family_. It’s one of your favorite movies. You’ve seen it a hundred times. You’re quite aware of what Wednesday Addams is going to say, so you feel less guilty by taking your attention off of it.

Besides, Mettaton told you to stop quietly quoting the movie under your breath. “If we’re not going to watch something of mine, darling, I might as well get the full experience.”

“What if my quotations are part of the experience?”

He gave you the most deadpan look until you ceased with the silliness. He puts up with so much. Ha.

But anyway. Thighs and thumbs. That’s your business right now, and surreptitiously watching your metal and magic boyfriend to see if he’s going to react to you kneading his leg.

You find very little. Perhaps you’re not pressing hard enough, but he barely even twitches. You do see the slightest static in the corner of his eye – though you could be imagining it, seeing something from the TV on his LED eye.

Science is hard when it’s secret science.

When super subtle secret silence doesn’t work, you decide to up your game. There are almost no other soft spots for you to get at his inner workings in (and how creepy is that, you’re literally considering messing around with your robot boyfriend’s _insides_ to see if he’s into that. And if _you’re_ actually into that or just weirdly fascinated.

If he is that’s probably an error in his body makeup.

If you are that just means you’re pretty fucked up, doesn’t it?

Cue mental slap, quick kinkshaming, and back to business.

“Mettatonnnnnnnn,” you whine, throwing a leg up in the air and dropping it on his shoulder in clear parody of your boyfriend. It pulls somthing (as you are not, in fact, made out of metal and magic but instead flesh and bone and you’re flexible but not _that_ flexible.) “Pay attention to me.”

“I am, darling,” he laughs and ruffles your hair. In this maneuver you’d fallen back, precarious on his lap and only staying there due to the arm he’s got around your waist. The things you do for flamboyancy. (Or, rather, the things you do to vaguely mock Mettaton’s flamboyancy.) “What were we doing about, oh, thirty seconds ago?”

“Cuddling to creepies and kookies.” Speaking of which, you should pause that.

There.

“How can you possibly accuse me of not paying attention to you, darling?” He moves to lean forward before remembering that you’ve got a leg up by his shoulder and if he does something in you will probably pop. And not in the good way.

You should probably move that leg. You do, doing some awkward shimmy (he’s used to it) so that you’re straddling him normally again and can press your body up against him. “Pay attention to me differently.”

“How?”

“Lemme pay attention to you.”

 _Whirr_. “As is only natural,” he bluffs. He’s got a beautiful poker face. Too bad you know about the fan thing. It’s cute when he finds your human curiosity embarrassing, if only just a little. He’s not used to his fans having such a... legitimately scientific interest in his body. It amuses you that he’s perfectly fine with anything sexual with this form but the second it’s not all wham-bam-thank you bot he has some nerves. “I’m quite fascinating, and fantastic – I mean, look at these!” Down he goes on the bed, up goes a leg in the most high-kick way he can get while taking into account that he’s sprawled out on his (your) bed with you... Well, you’re not on his lap anymore, you kind of got booted when his left leg decided to go on a journey to the moon.

“Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry, darling.”

You could laugh at the robot or you could be affronted that your face is mashed in the most undignified manner into the bedsheets.

You do both and thump him with your hand as you snicker, crawling to your knees beside Mettaton. The fucking dweeb didn’t even lower his leg while he apologized, still poised dramatically in the air.

Well, obviously as good a place to start as any.

“Legs was the correct answer,” you quote him and straddle his stomach, in that very small space between his pink chest plate and the box of his artificial soul (or, as you’re coming to call it, the really big g-spot). He’s terribly warm here sometimes, the silver chrome heating up like a car, but he isn’t now.

Well. For now.

You start with the one poised in the air, feeling up his calf. If you could call it a calf. It’s really a boot, but the sort that’s also his leg because he literally can’t take it off. It’s built into him. You slide your hands over the rise of his foot, the edge of his heel. There’s a seam down here, where he unlocks it and uncoils his charge cord for this form. There’s another seam on the inside of his calf – you don’t know what this one is for. It looks like it’s just a seam, a subtle one, from when he was made. Cute.

“Darling, is this...” Mettaton trails off as you slide your legs up his calf, thumbing the ridge where his “boot” hits his “knee.” It’s a plastic-esque curve, like a children’s toy, into the rest of him. It fakes being an actual boot quite well, honestly. You wonder if you could take off his leg right here. “What are you doing?”

“Paying attention to you.”

“Ah.” Silence for a few minutes as you trail your hands up his thigh, pressing on the heavy cords inside. Then you skirt over his crotch and go to the other leg, treating it the same. “This is not what I expected.”

You muffle your snickers into his knee. Really dig into the cords for good measure, listen to a low purr come from several inches behind your ass. There’s the one that makes his voice jump – you don’t know if it’s because it’s actually connected to his “voice box” or if it just feels good enough that he can’t talk around it.

It occurs to you that you can actually totally ask him.

“Hey, Mettaton?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“What’s this feel like?” You wiggle around a cord like you would a tendon, thumbing it and letting it snap back into place. He shudders a little. “Can you describe it for me?”

“It’s like-ke-ke-ke— _AHEM!_ ”

You stop fucking with his voice. You’re not sorry. It’s so much fun.

“It’s like-“ He pauses to make sure you won’t go back to his leg. You lift both your hands up in surrender, looking over your shoulder. “Finding a... a very good knot in your back and pressing.” He runs his hands up your back, thumbs digging into opposite sides of your spine. Hnnnngh. Oh yeah right there please.

No wait you had a goal auuuuugh he knows right where to press yeah those things that were your limbs are turning into jelly as you groan appreciatively, leaning into the touch. Your back always hurts. You slouch too much. Don’t do art, kids.

With significant willpower (and you’re talking like assloads of determination here Mettaton gives the best back rubs), you bat his hands away. “Noooo, I’m supposed to be paying attention to you.”

“This can be a two-way street.”

Yeah but you can’t do super secret science when he’s distracting you like that. You should probably stop calling it super secret science, but you’re not one to get rid of a gag. Especially if it’s a gag that has alliteration. That only you know. Wow, this is why you can’t take sex seriously.

“Nope! Hands down.” You wiggle your butt until he obligingly puts his hands on your ass. Perfect. “I thought you’d be into this, anyway. Body worship not your thing?”

He pointedly looks away, turning his nose up at you. “There is less worship than just plain scientific curiosity here.”

Point.

“Oh, Mettaton, oh!” You moan theatrically, pressing your body up to his leg. “Oh I’m swooning over here, your leg is so perf. Look at this curve. Look at how it turns into your hip. It’s so beautiful.”

Your robot boyfriend snorts. Score one for sheer ridiculousness. You’re proud that you gained the mettle to joke around with him, at least in private. It’s easy to forget that he’s actually the very loud and famous celebrity robot in the comfort of his “hotel room” and acts like a dumbass with you. Doubly so in Alphys’s office. But damn, the second you’re out the door? He loses it, he puts on the public face, and you’re so out of your element. He’s suave, and sweet, and holds you in his arm as cameras go off and you tense like a board. Like the first time.

But anyway. You were doing a thing. Back to this hip that you were just praising. You can feel a boxlike... thing under the silicone, though you’re not sure what it’s for. You grope it a bit, getting very little reaction from Mettaton. Your hands slide up to the box, thumbing around the edges and listening to his artificial breath hitch as you act as though you were doing to slide your fingers under the glass lid and fondle his heart. You drum your fingers on the glass, giggling when Mettaton kneads harder at your ass and groans halfway brokenly.

“Hey, Mettaton?” 

“Mmmm yes darling?”

“You should show me all your ports.”

A moment of silence. You pointedly don’t turn around to see his face, refusing to even swallow the way you want to. Your throat’s rather dry. That sounded weird, didn’t it?

“Why?”

Ah. Yes. The logical response to “you should show me all your ports.” You should have expected this.

“For science.” Super scientific science for science yeah totally. Just science. Not because you have some other vested interest. “Maybe I wanna draw it.” Or that. Totally a viable excuse.

“What would you draw that would involve my ports?”

Abort mission, fucking abort the goddamn mission.

“ACTUALLY nevermind.” You start to climb off. It was a stupid idea. Time to be garbage in the corner, right? Ha ha haaaaaa…

You’re not moving. This is because he’s got his hands on your hips and isn’t letting you go and be garbage in the corner.

“Tell me, darling.” And he pulls you backwards, carding his gloved fingers through your hair. _And_ turning your head so you have to look at him, the bastard. “Why do you want to see?”

“Just because,” you grumble. It’s _hard_ to admit what you want, even when it doesn’t involve erotically tearing apart a robot for kicks. And this is actually totally that other thing. Awkward at best, probably mortifying, fucking creepy as shit at worst.

“Tell me.” He kisses your forehead.

“No.”

“Tell me tell me tell me.” He kisses the rest of your face, licking the corner of your mouth even. “I’m not letting you get up until you tell me. I can literally stay like this for hours.”

Mercy killing is completely and totally a thing you’re okay with at this very moment. It’s several minutes before you work up the mettle to even attempt telling him, and four false starts before you find a way to say it that doesn’t sound completely insane.

“When you were hooked up to Alphys’s computer a few weeks ago… When she unhooked you after I made fun of your port location – I still say it’s in your left asscheek, for the record—“ Mettaton snorts and shakes his head. “—you, um. Made some very interesting noises. And faces. It got me thinking, you know, and…” Kill you just kill you just disappear into the nothingness of the void that would be so much better “andikindawannamuckaroundinyourportsandseeiftheyallmakeyoumakethosefac—“

He’s lucky you like him, because Mettaton shoves his fingers _into your mouth_ to get you to shut up. Your teeth hit metal through the cloth and it hurts, not to mention the taste is horrid. Cloth is gross. Now your tongue feels like cotton.

“Can we try that again, but slower this time, darling?”

You would bite him if that didn’t have a chance to break your teeth. And if he didn’t like it, anyway.

“I _said_ ,” ugh it’s worse the second time, “I kind of. Wanna. See if the rest of your ports make you make those faces. If it’s. Good or. Whatever.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

“NOT ALL OF US CAN BE SO BLASÉ ABOUT WHAT WE WANT,” You grouch as he presses kisses to your face. He will not break your mood with kisses. You refuse. You’re going to lay on his chest with his dial pressing uncomfortably into your shoulder blade and be grumpy.

Mettaton sighs at you, patting your head. “I want to give you what you want,” he mouths against your jawline, voice coming out at around your ribcage. “Don’t be afraid to ask. I can show you my ports. I can do one better, even.”

Um?

“Like?”

“Do you want…” A pause. He whirrs. Ha! He’s embarrassed. It’s not just you. Everything can be awkward and that makes you feel so much better. “You should play with my wiring.”

Fuckity what.

 _Oh god why is that so hot_.

“Lemme up.” You waggle your arms and legs like a cockroach until he lets you up, scooting over on the bed until you’re sitting next to him. “We gotta do the unsexy thing and talk about it.”

“It would be so much easier if we just did it,” Mettaton pouts as he sits up next to you. And yes, he’s right, but you’re not totally green to the nuances of intense kink and this seems kind of intense at least for one of you and you’re going to flip all of your shits if you don’t talk about it.

“You have to tell me about it first.” You’re not going to just… fucking… you don’t even know, you’re bombarded with scenarios that you _weren’t thinking of earlier_ because you were so certain you wouldn’t get that far, never get that far, maybe mess around with his ports but oh god now you’re thinking about twisting your fingers into his wires and fondling them as thoroughly as you do with his heart and seeing if that makes him wail and scream as he lies there helpless—

Fuck your life.

“I know, from my early frequent repairs, that my wires can do some… interesting things to my system.” He taps his chest. “Especially the ones in here, when they’re crossed wrong. I only felt flashes – moments, really – when Alphys fumbled when fixing me up. I want to know what they feel like, if they’re anything like how it feels when I get hooked up. Electricity does interesting things to this body.”

A mental image of static electricity getting your robot boyfriend hot and bothered flashes through your head. You fight the urge to giggle.

“And you’re going to let me explore that for you?”

“Mmhm.” He looks up at you through thick animu eyelashes, contorting his entire body so he’s able to actually look up. He looks adorably… submissive from down there. “Please?”

How did this go from a fucked up thing you were fascinated with to a thing that Mettaton actually wants? Not that you’re complaining but you’ve kind of lost track of the state of affairs.

“Yeah sure totally okay.” You kiss him – softly, more of a brush of lips on his than any sort of hard make outs. He’s the one that grabs your face and presses his tongue insistently in your mouth, tracing over your hard palette and under your tongue. He presses a little too hard around your cheeks, though, and you don’t care enough but it gives you another terrible idea.

“Can I do other things too?” you ask into his mouth. It’s a mumble if anything, muffled with tongue and teeth and just _him_.

“Yes, of course,” Mettaton purrs.

“Can I fuck you?”

“ _Please._ ”

“Can I, um,” okay this one’s more awkward, “Disconnect your arms?”

He pauses, going completely and eerily still against you. “You want me to be helpless against you?” he whispers, voice coming out quiet under your palm. Hhhhngh. You’re never going to get over how he’s so human and yet so _not_.

“Is that okay? We can not. Or do it a different way, if…”

“It’s fine.” A kiss against your lower lip, a lick over them both. “We can do that. I wasn’t expecting it like that, is all.”

“Yeah, well, most people don’t know that you can disconnect them harmlessly.”

“Now, anyway.” Mettaton scoots backwards under you, getting higher on the bed so you’d have more room than just the very end. “There’s a power drill under the bed to get my chest off, and the arms too.”

“Why do you keep your power drill under the bed?” You climb off the side, looking under the sheet that had fallen on the floor.

“Why do you keep your dicks under the bed?”

Touché.

“I’m going to use those later, don’t think I won’t.” You kick the box of dicks as you find the power drill (it’s bedazzled. You are not surprised) and whirr it in the air, taking a pose that looks a lot more confident than you actually are. “Okay, ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be.” He grins, tongue lolling out, pink and dripping provocatively. Someday you’re going to ride his face and he won’t even have to come up for air.

He has to walk you through finding his screws and getting them out, setting them safely on the dresser in an empty, gutted jewelry box. The arms come off first, heavy fuckers (of course they are) that you haul over to the nearest chair and put down as gently as possible. Mettaton makes a gentle gasp as you pull them away, sounding mostly affected and just a little wounded. There’s a pattern inside where pegs A slide into slots B that looks like a movie reel, large and smooth. The biggest holes can hold three fingers inside, the smallest only your pinkie.

He doesn’t quite look helpless yet, but that’s probably because he’s still leering up at you, biting his lip excitedly and everything. When he slides down so that his back rests against the sheets and bats his eyelashes in a doey fashion it’s an effort not to slap him. With your face.

You kiss him anyway. It’s a thing.

His chest plate comes off next, something you do without looking at what’s underneath just in case your heart stops. The plastic-esque metal goes on the floor next to his arms, the screws in the jewelry box, the bedazzled power drill beside it.

His heart beats excitedly as you straddle it, resting your ass a little on the box. You’re looking up at the ceiling. Mettaton doesn’t rush you to look down, look at him, for which you’re thankful. You’re probably taking this way too seriously. It’s a bad habit of yours. 

No time to back out and flip your royal shits. You have a robot to wreck.

So you look down and your breath goes backwards at how open, vulnerable, submissive, and wanting he looks. You thumb the edges of his… in lack of a better word, ribcage, and just take him in.

Mettaton’s chest is a masterpiece of wirework. A masterpiece, but also a mess, tangles and knots of wires and systems all crossing and looping around each other in front of motors locked behind boxes to preserve your (Alphys’s) fingers. God, you can stick your hand _inside_ him – and then you do, slipping artist’s fingers under the wires and worming around his chest to thump against the tightly protected boxes and processers. His fan’s there, at the other end, pointed away. A grate protects your hands from the rapidly spinning blades, whirring louder than you’ve heard it ever before without the large metal plating in the way.

“And you’re absolutely sure I can do this?”

“I’m certain, darling.” Mettaton sighs, and you might be used to his chest never rising and falling but it always catches you off guard when you’re straddling his abdomen. “All the ones absolutely vital to my being aren’t right there in the open.” He would gesture at them, certainly, if he still had his arms. “Alphys assured me of that when she built my body. I trust you with everything there.”

Right. Okay.

Your robot boyfriend was literally going to let you mess around with his insides _just to see what happens_. There is no reason for you to be nervous. It’s perfectly safe.

So you disconnect a blue wire (he gasps) and a purple wire (he whines) and you stick blue where purple went. Mettaton’s jaw goes a little slack, eye going a little fuzzy. There’s static in his speaker on the tail end of each subtle gasp.

It’s so good.

“No, wait…” You want to keep at it – keep going, keep mismatching his wires until all his circuits are crossed, but it’s so messy in here. You don’t want to get confused. You don’t want to mess him up. You decide you might as well organize while you’re inside him.

Mmm. Inside him. If that thought doesn’t just make your cunt throb as you twist up his wires and pull them out – gently, but all at once, and he groans appreciatively as each one disconnects into a twisted mess in your hand. Blue is the last one to slide out, not fitting quite perfectly in its slot, but he actually yelps when that one slides free of his body again.

“What do these do, Mettaton?” You ask, separating each one out in order. There’s quite a lot, with variants of color even, and you’re a little daunted at the prospect of putting him back together. But first things first, and first things are turning him on so hard that he cums from the mismatched electrical impulses alone. “Do you even know?”

He shakes his head back and forth, _ah_ -ing softly as you smooth out and stroke his wires. Of course he doesn’t. You suppose you’ll find out. He’s so quiet, a breath caught in anticipation as you draw it out, organizing the rainbow spilling out of his chest.

“I’m sorry it’s taking so long.” You’re not. You like wind him up.

“Of course, darling. It’s to be expected.” He blinks. Then he frowns. “I can’t seem to move my legs.”

“I’ll fix it,” you murmur, leaning over him and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. The fan whirrs loudly. “I’ll get you right.”

 _Oh_ , you like it when he looks up at you like that, vulnerable and devastated. The only thing that would make this disastrously perfect would be to turn his dial all the way up again so he’s dripping before you even finish putting him back together.

Okay. Blue to purple makes him fuzz out a little. Purple to red makes him twitch, yellow to red arcs his back slightly. All out of his control, too, which makes it all better. But you need to know what they all do. There’s so many. The ones that don’t do much of anything you put back, neatly, feeling proud when everything looked beautiful and orderly and even more proud when you find the two wires and make Mettaton bite back an “ _Oh fuck!_ ” and arch, vibrating. Actually vibrating, pressed up against you and enticing you to grind back down. _Haaaaah,_ you knew he had to have a vibrate function in here somewhere. There’s heat between your legs, thick and heavy and up against the robot. It takes actual, legitimate effort not to just hump him and rush your orgasm. It’s better to wait, wait and get it later and he’s first, you have to wreck him first.

Still. Pink and white is vibrate. Have to remember that. You let those go and he complains, a pant and a whine until you touch another together and he’s just spitting static out on you with his jaw slack, drooling (actually drooling, getting pink glitter on your bed and you’re left wondering where these fluid reserves even come from) and bowed under you, twitching and jerking.

He can’t even scream. He’s just too busy trying to remember to exist. His body’s clearly fucking up, since his eye’s gone all fuzzy and static, and you’re almost certain you’ve broken him. So certain that you drop the wires and feel your own goddamn heart stop because _oh god you killed him didn’t you you fucked him dead with his own wires this was a horrible idea—_

Except he’s shaking under you, throwing his head side to side and coughing the fuzz out of his voice to demand that you do it again right now please fast as you can, “please darling it was amazing it was the best don’t stop gorgeous don’t fucking stop,” and.

Well.

Can you really say no when he begs to prettily? When you can feel the pulsating throb of his heart in your crotch to a music you can’t even hear but sounds like his show? When he’s a shaking mess even though you’ve done barely anything to him, anything at all, you haven’t even touched his soft g-spot yet?

...

Yes.

Yes you can.

He cries out dick-wrenchingly low and wanton and _mad_ when he feels you set those two wires (burgundy and violet) as far apart from each other as you could, smoothing out the crinkles and pinching the ends. He mumbles a few choice names at you, to which you just touch pink, and white and ride that vibrate function for a minute or two. You figure it’s a fair trade and all.

He’s beautiful when he’s broken.

God you’re fucking creepy.

To distract yourself from being fucking creepy, you grab two random wires again (yellow and blue) and see what they do. For science.

Mettaton screams again. You’re rather lucky nobody complains about the noise as shocks actually ring up your body from his, snapping through his circuits and zapping through your nerves. It hurts a little, but not enough to make you stop until his recorded voice cracks and fuzzes out into silence. You kind of wish he was whole, just so you could watch him grab his sheets and fight to keep still under you. Or so he can grab your hips so hard that they bruise in the best way. Either or works.

You separate them after a minute and he pants, fan running louder than you’ve ever heard before. He shudders when you put them down, looking horrifically and gorgeously overstimulated. God, you want to kiss him. He’s open and pliant under you, mouth slack and willing and _wet_ as you press your lips up against his and coax his tired tongue up into your mouth. He tastes like strawberries.

“How you doing?” You mumble into his mouth.

“ _Fabulous_ ,” your boyfriend sighs under you, wiggling weakly.

“Can I fuck you?”

“ _Yes_.”

Oh good. You kiss him again, tracing the unnaturally smooth roof of his mouth with your tongue, before sliding off of him and pulling your box of dicks from under the bed. Mettaton watches you choose one, the bad dragon strap-on dildo (Nox the Night Drake, a model you’re rather fond of). He also watches you slide your harness on reverently, tongue lolling out lazily. Hnngh.

“Open up,” you murmur. He does, craning his head towards you. It’s an awkward angle to have him suck your dick at, especially when his chest is open and spilling the last few (favorite to play with) wires, but damn if watching him lave at the underside of your exotic dick isn’t the hottest, most fascinating thing you’ve seen in a long time. You wish you could feel it. You know it’s warm in there, warm and soft and silky even over his hard palate.

He hollows his cheeks around you, looking into your eyes as you stroke his hair and slowly fuck his mouth. You want to be gentle with him. He looks so submissive and fuckable that your cunt aches, clenching for a moment around nothing. Orgasms are for later. For now you stroke his hair and pull your dick out of his mouth, leaning over his chest and twisting blue and purple wires together so he whimpers encouragingly.

“You doing good, so good,” you murmur and walk between his legs, running your hands up his thighs and finding the panel at his hip with his “genital selection” dial, twisting it to the helpful diagram of a vulva. Watching his crotch pull apart and reveal the (of course) glowing pink core of his sex is mesmerizing, especially how it drools pre onto your bed.

You’re definitely not sleeping here. Again.

Mettaton turns into a puddle of purring sex as you slide into him, a low groan of an exhale until your hips are flush against his. This is a fucking big dildo. You’re impressed, honestly, because you know it’s tight and slick and sensitive and he’s taking it like goddamn champ.

“How you doing?” You ask, sliding your hand up and over the box with his soul, feeling its throb under your palm.

Moans count as answers, you decide, as you start to move. He’s biting his lip, not looking at you, legs and hair and wires and everything askew in the best way. You fuck him a like that for a good while, slow and steady. Then you push his legs up (they’re fucking heavy holy shit you’re going to be sore later) and pound into him, taking great pleasure in how he bows his back and yowls like a cat in heat. It’s like you’re fucking into his heart.

This is a lot of work. You’re lazy.

So you decide, actually, that this isn’t going to last very long. You sprawl over his stomach (it’s hot, it’s burning, it sears your body but you’re not going stay down there) and quickly as you’re able you twist together pink and white (he shudders through his vibrate and oh god yes you can feel it through your dick up against your clit and even in your cunt) and grab the other wires that _ruin_ him.

“Look at me,” you say. He doesn’t immediately, so you slam into him and demand, again, “Look at me, darling.”

It takes him effort, you know it does. But he looks at you, looks at what you have in your hands, and tries to give you some sort of raunchy grin. But he can’t, and he can’t climb any higher, and you force him to anyway when you touch burgundy and violet wires together again and he locks up. You don’t keep them together, you tap them - _zap-zap-zap-zap_ \- and with each touch he begs you to keep them there more and more fervently. It’s even worse now, with him vibrating around your dick and against your cunt but it’s wonderful and you’re close, you’re dangerously riding that edge, grinding into him as he breaks apart under you and when you hit your climax, hard throbs that rock through your groin and legs and your goddamn _ass_ you press those wires together and keep them there.

It takes Mettaton exactly four seconds of sustained contact to start cumming. It gushes around your dick and hips, of course it does, your life is an actual hentai now. There’s pink glitter lube sliding down your legs. And it’s still going, his back bent and mouth open and sparks spitting from his ch—

OH SHIT WIRES.

Someday you’re going to be able to enjoy a goddamn post-orgasmic haze but right now you bend forward and undo burgundy and violet, undo pink and white, undo blue and purple. He barely moves. At least he isn’t shut down?

“Talk to me, Mettaton,” you say as you put him back together. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.” Oh god it’s quiet, it’s so fucking quiet, you fucked his voice out and he’s a _fucking robot how the fuck did you manage that_. There’s small “oh”s for every wire you put in place, a sigh that reminds you of cracking your back somehow. “That was amazing, darling.”

“I’m glad.” And you’re done. You kiss him, sliding away and replacing his chest plating. It clicks into place and then you screw it back down, securing him and his insides so you don’t feel like you’re going to catch one accidentally and rip it out and oh look at that you broke him Mettaton will never be able to move his left foot again. So that can’t happen.

Then you bring his arms back over, clicking them into place. He flexes his fingers experimentally, stretching the gloves, before grabbing your waist and pulling you down to him. He’s still covered in robot jizz. You’re still covered in robot jizz. Hell, you’re still wearing your dick and he’s still got a cunt. But it seems now is cuddles time in the pink puddle of drool and cum and fluids. You have a serious case of swamp crotch. Ewwww.

“We should do that again,” Mettaton mumbles. It’s like he’s on low power mode.

“Maybe later. Very, very, very later.” That was intense and terrifying and amazing. You don’t want to do that again for a very long time. He burrows into your neck as you lay there, slowly working you into lying on top of him. It’s uncomfortable. He’s still so hot.

You pet his hair softly, carefully, for what feels like hours. It’s so long that he’s cooled down under you and you ache from the stillness. 

“Okay.” You pat his cheek. “Have to get up, Metta.”

“Five more minutes.”

God it’s hard to get up when he’s got arms wrapped around your waist. Uurgh. It takes significant wiggling to extricate yourself from his robot grasp, getting caught halfway up with your dick jabbing him in the face and hips around his neck. Did his arms get longer? His arms totally got longer. He’s cheating.

“Nooooooooooo,” Mettaton whines.

“I’m gross and sticky and I’m getting up and taking a shower so I can shame walk home because you soaked the bed again so let me goooooo—“

He doesn’t let you go. You smack him in the face with the dick until he lets you go, thank fuck, and you can fall disgracefully off the bed and skip towards the bathroom. Except not skip, because your everything is fucking exhausted. No wonder you stopped fucking dudes. You’re lazy as shit.

Is Mettaton waterproof?... He probably isn’t. Shame, considering having him wash you down would be the best thing ever.

He does hum pleasantly outside, however, as he cleans himself next to the shower. That’s… nice. Your robot boyfriend comes with songs pre-packaged. At least he’s not tone deaf. Though he does sound remarkably like a certain... Japanese… voice synthesizer program… when he sings…

Right, your boss is a fucking weeaboo, you forgot.

“Do me a favor and sing _World is Mine_.” You say as you get out, toweling your hair furiously and dripping on the floor. Your legs are still sparkling.

“Sing what?”

“Oh, or sing _Luvoratory_ , that’d be great too.”

“I have no idea what those songs are, darling.”

“Go on YouTube sometime, yeesh.” You dry off your legs, hiking them up to your chest to get at your thighs. Then you smack him on the ass with your towel, stalking around him and out of the grand bathroom. “And take me home, you butt.”

“No way, you’re stuck here forever.” Mettaton smacks his own ass at you. “You like my butt.”

“It is a nice butt. You jizzed all over the bed again, I can’t sleep here.”

“This is a hotel, darling, there are multiple rooms with multiple beds.”

“My toothbrush is at home.”

“You have a spare here.”

“I don’t have any other clothes.”

“You left some here last week.” He leans down and kisses your cheek. “Do you really want to go so badly? I can walk you.”

You don’t, actually. “Nah.” You kiss him back, patting his cheek. “I’m just being a little shit. Carry me to bed.”

He does. He actually bends down, picking you up and carrying you bridal style through the hallway – ignoring the fact that you’re still fucking naked, thanks for that, and plopping you in a nearby and clean bed. You bounce several times on the softest thing you’ve probably gonna flop on for the rest of your life before burrowing like a cat under the covers. Gaaaaah it’s soft. Much softer than Mettaton’s, actually. His is made for better fucking, probably, considering he doesn’t sleep. You’re gonna have to start living in this room.

You should probably shave your legs; it’d feel fucking amazing on these sheets.

“Having fun?” A humored robotic voice asks you from the other side of the veil of softness. Mmm. Hotel sheets are awesome.

“Don’t judge me.” You stick your leg out of the covers, pointing where you think the door is. “Now you may leave us. There’s only room for me and this bed in here. I’m never getting up again.”

Warm, heavy metal falls on you. The appropriate response is loudly shrieking, flailing all four limbs as robotic arms wrap up around you and the covers until you’re an immovable burrito of sheets and human. Like this, Mettaton’s hard edges aren’t so rough against you. It’s actually not that bad, having him pressed up against you. You almost wish you could sleep cuddled up against his side with his arms around you. Except that you’re burrito and your leg is getting uncomfortable and you can’t breathe _time to unburrito now please_.

Five minutes and several wild thrashings later (ow, ow, you hit your hand on his shoulder, ow), you and Mettaton settle into a twisted up cuddle, you more on him than the other way around. He’d crush you! You’re breathing into his chest, one hand cradling your head and the other one holding onto your ass.

“There’s room for me after all, isn’t there?”

“Bite me.”

He laughs, looking down. You can just barely make out the pink of his eye from this position. “That can be arranged.”

“Later, later.” You’re tired. Fucking takes too much effort. “Put it on my tab or something.”

It’s weird to fall asleep on him. You’re going to get four kinks in your back from this alone, regardless of how comfortable the bed is. It’s nice for now, at least. 

“Do you feel special yet,” Mettaton asks you. At least, you think he asks you. You’re not very awake right now. He might not have said anything. He probably said nothing.

“Mmmm,” You answer him just in case.

Because that makes sense.

\- x - 

When you wake up, Mettaton isn’t still curled around you on the bed. He isn’t in the bed at all, and your back feels just fine so he had to have left not long after you fell asleep. You sit up slowly, looking around the hotel room. You’re still naked.

Oh. There he is. On the floor again, heel plugged into the wall, sitting slumped over as though he fell asleep in the corner.

You end up watching him for a while, leaning over the side of the bed and zoning out. He doesn’t breathe when he sleeps – obviously, because he doesn’t have lungs – although his heart pulses like a breath. It’s the only thing that tells you he’s alive. Because he is alive. You had your hands in his chest and he’s still alive, he’s fine, and it was amazing.

He needs to hurry up and wake up so that you can get your clothes back. Then he needs to take you to breakfast and then into work so your day can continue the cycle of stupidity it usually takes. It’s a good cycle of stupidity.

Honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to one "HenriettaDarlington" for suggesting I try wireplay out. God, do I love ruining Mettaton.


End file.
